


dye my eyes and call me pretty

by sabinelagrande



Category: NCIS
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Crossdressing, M/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-26
Updated: 2009-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On undercover missions and their consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dye my eyes and call me pretty

"I don't know why it couldn't have been Ziva," Tony calls from the bathroom. "She's a woman, last time I checked."

"She's too short and too pretty," McGee reminds him, for about the fifth time. "It's a drag club. She'd have stuck out like a sore thumb."

"Are you saying I'm not pretty?" comes the response; he doesn't rise to it. What McGee doesn't know is why Tony has insisted on coming over to _his_ place; but, the case is wrapped up, the beer in his hand is ice cold, and maybe he doesn't mind being generous tonight.

When he comes out of the bathroom, DiNozzo's looking a whole lot less ladylike. He and his carefully constructed outfit have been fighting a war of attrition all afternoon; his wig was the first casualty, lost while Tony was in pursuit of the suspect. Miraculously, the high heeled shoes are still intact, but his stockings are completely shot, runs spiderwebbing crazily through them. The makeup is still hanging in there; his eyeliner is smudged and every surface he's come into contact with in the last six hours is now glittery, but otherwise, it's not bad. Speaking of hanging- McGee has no idea where and how he was "hiding the candy," as he and Abby insisted upon calling it when they discussed it- at length- but it's certainly made a comeback, marring the lines of the red silk dress he's wearing. It seems like that should break the spell, somehow, but McGee honestly thinks he looks better this way. He really doesn't want to examine that thought any further; not while someone else is in the room, anyway.

Tony walks over and puts his foot up on the coffee table. His dress falls open, the top of the side slit sliding all the way up his surprisingly shapely thigh; his stockings stop at mid-thigh, held up by delicate black straps, and McGee can see everything.

"Seventeen."

McGee blinks, closing his inexplicably open mouth and trying to get his head back in the game. "What?"

Tony wiggles a finger underneath one stocking top, easing it away from his skin for a moment and rubbing at the red line it's left behind. "Number seventeen on the list of formerly hot things this job has ruined forever: garter belts."

Just as soon as he can remember how to talk, he's going to make a joke, he swears he is- he's going to ask about the other sixteen or marvel that there are so few or act amazed that Tony would ever be so fussy about sex- he's going to defuse the situation before it can explode.

Except that before he can get his mouth to work again, Tony slithers right into his lap, bracketing McGee's thighs with his own. "Looks like somebody disagrees," he says, running the backs of his fingers lightly up the front of McGee's slacks. "See something you like?"

"You look like a streetwalker," he replies, dodging the question.

"Why, thank you," Tony shoots back, giving him a wink.

There's another moment where he could pull it back, laugh and pretend he gets the joke; he misses it again. "You'd better not be fucking with me, DiNozzo," he says finally, low and rough.

"I am just as serious-" he breaks off to press a brief, teasing kiss to McGee's lips- "as a heart attack."

If he was asked why grabs Tony's face and crushes their lips back together, he'd probably blame it on going undercover, the adrenaline-sick, desperate feeling that he always has to burn off afterward; maybe he'd pull out an even flimsier excuse, talk about how long it's been, how he was confused, how it's all Tony's fault.

But nobody's asking, and, right now, he's got better things to do with his mouth.

His hands are shaking as he slides them up Tony's thighs, because, as incredibly hot as this is, he fully realizes that he really doesn't have any idea at all what he's doing. He almost balks, pushes Tony away; but then Tony huffs out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes and grabbing McGee's hand, hissing as he presses both their index fingers inside himself.

He's slick already.

Suddenly, everything makes a whole lot more sense. "You set me up."

"Completely," Tony confirms, groaning as McGee knocks his hand out of the way and adds another finger. "C'mon, Tim, do it," he encourages, reaching down and unzipping McGee's slacks, wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking him through his underwear.

"I might, if you would get out of my way," he replies, pulling his fingers free and pushing at Tony's hips until he raises up. Just as soon as McGee can get his pants and shorts pulled down, Tony takes over again, pressing him into the couch with one hand and hoisting up his skirt with the other; he figures that's his cue. He carefully positions himself, starts to push inside slowly- but Tony's not having any of that. He lets himself drop, inch by inch, taking all of McGee's cock in one long, smooth movement.

"_Fuck_," McGee pants.

Tony pats him lightly on the cheek. "That's the idea," he says, sounding gratifyingly breathless.

He shouldn't have been worried about his relative inexperience, because this is clearly all Tony's show. He takes McGee just exactly how he wants him, thrusting down on him over and over again, his hips rocking into just the right angle, keeping him pinned against the couch by his shoulders.

It's all fascinating to McGee. Even wrapped up in red silk and black garters, with makeup smeared all over his face, he doesn't look girly; it's just that he doesn't look like a guy, either. The way he's shaking and writhing as he fucks himself on McGee's dick, he doesn't even really look human- he looks more like some kind of demon, something feral and dangerous and gorgeous.

Tony's getting close, jerking hard against him and panting; and McGee can't get any decent leverage, but he pushes up anyway, giving him everything he's got, slipping a hand underneath his skirt and stroking him. It doesn't take much- once, twice, half a dozen times, and they've probably ruined the dress, but McGee can't care, because he's following, his hips bucking uncontrollably. Tony collapses against him, curling against his chest, his face in McGee's neck; he pets Tony's back idly, calmly wondering who replaced all his bones with gelatin.

Tony's legs are coltish and shaky when he finally stands, at least until he remembers about his high heels and kicks them vindictively underneath the couch. McGee doesn't even really know how he's moving at all; for his own part, he feels like he's just been hit by a truck- a sexy truck, but a truck nonetheless.

"I'm thinking Indian food for supper," Tony calls from the kitchen.

"Mmm."

"Rogan josh, maybe some samosas, definitely some naan."

"Mmm."

"Then I'm going to burn your house down and collect the insurance money."

"Mmm."

Tony pokes his head back in, a wide grin on his face; and McGee knows he should probably feel awkward, but instead he just feels satisfied. "So, I take it you liked the outfit?"

McGee makes an affirmative noise, letting his head fall back onto the couch and drifting for a bit.

With any luck, Tony'll wake him up when dinner gets here.


End file.
